Groundsel
by owlielove
Summary: Groundsel was a nasty herb. It grew in the darkest part of the woods. It was Death itself. Merlin's charged with concocting a mix in which to kill the king...but in truth it is for himself.
1. For myself

The air was hot, muggy, searing, and stifling. It seemed in great company with the low sounds coming from the room at the top of the stairs. Here and there soft thumps and diluted soft place clinks could be heard as the light at the bottom of the door was distorted and blotched out to murky shadows time to time as feet crossed the threshold.

Inside a hunched figure, their form crumpled and misshaped by their wrinkled and tarnished tunic, sat on a stool, the legs warped from years of abuse. Around them sat many vials, pewters, scales, rods for stirring, a fire pot for melting, and many bushels and throngs of herbs of variety. A book lay opened at the far end of the table and the figure reached an ink stained hand, with cracks of dry skin running on the open membrane like maps, and old remints of scars on the young looking hand, riffled through the pages until they sought the one they had been looking for. They made little huffs and grunts and they traced down the list and looked back and forth between the volume and the items spread about them.

"Three mithqal of Groundsel," the young man muttered as he measured out the herb in the stilted weight scale. He read the nicks as the scale settled on the wooden axle and ceased to move. He then, carefully, transferred the herb into the pewter bowl with the other already crushed, filtered, measured fixings. He was careful not to breathe in any fumes…no, not yet.

He mustn't.

Groundsel was a nasty herb. The picking of it was nasty business, nay; the herb itself was death in itself. Merlin had gone out early that morning to retrieve it. He had risen early, donned his ratty blue dyed cloak, and slipped past the sentries at the western gate overlooking the village and woods. There was, of course, no need for such sneaking around the grounds like some petty thief, but Merlin did not want anyone to know of his business, especially the king.

He had tracked three miles through Godforsaken woods; the ground, a mud trap from the rains that had all but infiltrated the lands the last couple weeks, hard to walk through even with the usual bramble and thicket. The herb only grew in the dark, where little light hit the woods. It took Merlin a good hour or so to find it, hidden beneath an old fallen timber log. He cut it with his dagger, a quick clean cut, and wrapped it in monk's cloth, as he congratulated himself on a job well done. He could now finish what he had started many months ago.

He set the bowl with all the herbs on the frame in the makeshift fire pit on his work table. His eyes sparked gold and fire jumped into the world. He raised his hand, a smile on his established, gaunt face which for the first time in his life was ghosted with a beard. His tongue, already forming the words of the enchantment required to finish this project, was stilled as the door to his workroom connected to his personal chamber was thrown open and hammered against the stone wall.

Merlin jumped his heart beating fast. Before he could even bat an eye he felt strong hands grab the back of his tunic and he was thrown against the wall. Colorful sparks shot like fireworks behind his eyes and he grimaced in pain. He went to moan in resort to this abuse when he felt cool metal work still kiss his throat.

"Speak in that tongue of yours and you'll be most sorry," the voice said, calm and cool.

Merlin knew the voice of course. Who did not? It was a voice loved by all and feared by only a few. It was the voice of courage, valor, honor, respect, and all that Britain stood for. Opening his eyes, the warlock was met with a smooth, white, clean face, the lips full and breath smelling faintly of wine and spice. Rolling his eyes upward Merlin looked into the blue eyes not filching. The sword bit lightly into his neck like that of a lover.

"Sire."

Arthur, king of Camelot, looked at his longtime friend, advisor, protector, and manservant. His hand that held his sword wanting to pull the sword away, instead he forced it more against Merlin's skin.

_ So the rumors were true then,_ he thought crest fallen, not wanting to believe them, but having the evidence in front of him it was hard to disprove it. Merlin was trying murder someone of the court; someone who lived under the thatched room and stone walls. Trying to kill him, if what he was told true.

"On behalf of my law and crown you will be sentenced to death. Hanging from the gallows for all to witness and to see, for no lesser punishment will correct your wrong doings, no evidence or plea will save you. You have tried and concocted a mean to kill someone of court or myself." Arthur's voice held a twinge of tearfulness to it as he looked at Merlin who stood silent. All preambles came to a stop and just one word came out, "Why?"

"I wasn't trying to kill you or anyone of the court."

Arthur shook his head," the evidence is plain to see here, this potion is one to bring on death. Countless witness saw you entering the woods this morning; have taken note of your odd behavior as of late, so have I…"

"I wasn't trying to kill you or anyone of this court," Merlin said again and took a deep breath, "The Potion your Grace…is for me."

**Thank you for reading. Please review I would like to know your thoughts and comments. Shall post again soon! **


	2. Instigation torture

**Chapter two:**

**Instigation torture**

Merlin stood, stale sweat dripping down his face onto his upper lip. His back was against the crude cut rock wall, his hands bounded behind him in a tight knot and lifted so the rope was snagged on a hook like barb coming out of the wall. His feet slipped as he tried to find purchase on the tip of his feet, he winced as the moment pulled painfully on his shoulder; a POP emerging from his muscle. He cursed.

He let his eyes sweep across the room as far as they could go; it seemed for the millionth time. Again, just like all the other times before, he could not help but hold down the bitter bile that rose in his throat or the painful twisting in his lower gut. He did not know why he tortured himself so, he snorted at the thought the irony, it seemed almost comical as he was locked and bound in a torture chamber.

This chamber had been here long before Merlin had been born from his mother's womb. These so called chambers had once been a fashion in every king's fort, castle, and home estate. What once had been a crude room deep below in the catacombs of the dungeons with just a simple chair bound to the floor with iron and a strap to keep the occupant from moving had now turn into a hellish nightmare. Over time, kings had borrowed methods from the Romans such as their hellish form of blind folding their convict and taking them, stripping them down to bare skin and whipping them with rods, leaving the prey of the torturer bloody and crying for days. Some kingdoms in the British Isles went as far as boiling the poor souls in water sometimes just their feet to get them to speak or their whole body if the king was in a foul mood, boiling them alive. Merlin had seen this once, remembered the odor of boiled flesh, the animal like squeals cut down to gurgles, the eyes soulless and petrified.

There had always been a torture chamber in Camelot's castle. Set up by Ambrosia, Uther's brother, a famous war general and king who reigned what seemed eons ago. It had been used back then, of course, as that was the way of life, but as time grew and expanded onward it just became a shadowy room filled with contempt and old bitter ghost of days past. Merlin was the first person in a decade to be placed into the room. His feet had skidded and trailed in the dust as the knights had drug his body across the floor and tied him up. He had been in here for three nights and four days. How he knew that he couldn't be sure for there was no windows to let sunlight or cloud light or moonlight in. He counted the days by the change of the guard outside the door. They shifted by threes. He got little to no food which he supposed was suspected.

"Meque his exsolvite vincula fune quod captant carne mea" Merlin tried in vain once more to loosen or dispel the rope around his wrist. No luck. His magic could not, would not, work on Magia declinavi, an object that deflected all enchantments.

He heard footfalls outside the door to his "safe haven" and watched it as the hinges moaned in protest as the door opened. Merlin observed as black leather boots, their heels and the front covered in mud, advanced to stand in front of him. There was a beat of silence.

"Are you going to talk now Merlin?" the voice asked, soft, gentle. Not the tone of a persecutor.

Merlin looked up and into the eyes of Gawain. The young spirited, handsome, roughish man who had joined the ranks of the knights when Arthur was but a prince when he had forfeited his own life and freedom to save the prince in a mêlée, now was a somber man in his near forties. His black hair was now ragged and unkempt with streaks of pale grey hidden within. He walked with a limp given to him when he had suffered an almost death blow when fighting in pursuit of Morgana. His eyes were dim and his usual smiling face was set in a thin, tight line.

"I have nothing new to say," Merlin said. "I have said the same thing over and over again, and will the same thing now. The potion was not meant for anyone at court or Arthur, but for my own use and infliction. But then again, my voice always did fall short in the crowd."

Despite trying to make a light joke, Gawain did not smile. "The reason the king put you in this room Merlin is for your own safety more than any other thing. Most believe you lie and the poison was for the king, but I, myself as well as some of the older seasoned knights, and the king himself, believe you. We just do not understand the reason as to why."

Merlin snorted," Of course you do not! Locking me in this chamber of death and dismal decay like this," he shifted his hands to emphasize his point, the rope cutting him raw, "is supposed to make me more eager to talk? I never been one for lush care dedicated to one of my stature but I do not deserve this kind of treatment."

Gawain bit his lip. He hated seeing Merlin in this position, anyone really. It had come to him as a shock when word of Merlin's "plot" and arrest by the king himself had finally reached his ears. He had been out on patrol in the western province of the kingdom. He, for one second, did not believe Merlin capable of killing anyone, especially the king. Arthur was much as a brother to Merlin then anyone. No, what shocked him the most was that Arthur put him in this godforsaken room, tied up like this, and the proclamation Merlin made about the dose being for his own self use. While he knew it was to keep Merlin safe, it still did not rest well with him. He could not grasp it.

"Arthur is doing it to keep you safe, Merlin. A lot of the people think you tried to kill the king and he can't just dismiss it, even if we do believe your word. The people would think him weak for dismissing a threat as such as nothing….and see it as favoritism without a trial against you. Evidence and witness' are being accounted for now. It would help; you would help yourself, my friend if you just told us why. Why would you want to….take a potion meant for death?"

Merlin licked his lips, they were dry. He knew, without a doubt that the trial would end badly and Arthur would have to put him to death. He never meant for it to be like this and never intended for anyone to find out about the potion. If he told the truth he put Arthur in danger and if he didn't he, himself, would die…and Arthur would be in danger still. If he was dead he could not help the king. If he told the truth he would still likely die, Arthur would be in danger, but he had more of a chance.

"I will talk."

Gawain let out a breath of relief and had to stop himself from letting out a whoop. He nodded and instructed the man outside the door to come in. The hooded man, with only his eyes and mouth showing through cut out slits strode towards Merlin. His skin was grey and scaly as he undid the knots around Merlin's wrist and the Warlock fell to the floor. He hissed as his ankle landed sideways underneath him.

"Careful!" Gawain exclaimed helping Merlin up and dusting him off. He threw a glare at the instigator. He gave the man orders to wait outside the room and bade Merlin to sit on the chair in the corner of the room. Merlin obeyed.

"So tell me Merlin, so we may close this case of mystery. "

Merlin rubbed his arm and looked about the room. Taking in the rack, meant for stretching people to the point they break, the tools stained heavily with rust from not being used in a hundred of years, dried blood he couldn't believe was still there, coals in the corner of the room no more than ash.

"I'll talk. But I want Arthur present. I want my king present. For the reason I conducted the potion was not to kill the king but to save his life. Not to kill the king but to kill me. I want to explain to the king the game I am playing and the rules. It's my job always to protect Arthur. My destiny. My destiny is turning again. Now…I have to tell Arthur the game and the rules…for now that I have spoken and the potion found…his life is the pawn."

**Thank you for reading and thank you for all the reviews, keep them coming! I hope to update again soon. This one is for all of you.**


	3. A Breath of Air

** chapter 3: A Breath of Air**

**Three Weeks Ago**

Merlin sat on the ledge of the window in the highest alcove in the Falconry Tower. His weight settled on his palms that lay splayed out behind him in what seemed the only sanitary spot in the otherwise messy and noisy sanctuary.

The building had been commissioned a year into Arthur's reign. It was brought upon from the ides cumulated by Arthur commencing trade with the Holy Roman Empire. The king had, on the council of Merlin and, of course, Gaius, had imported silks, spices, pristine metal work, scriptures and text, knowledge of the new Lord and Savior Jesus Christ from pamphlets written by clerks of the church, and of course, birds.

Arthur, when he had made the sea crossing to Rome, had learned the trade of falconry from the chief papal advisor to the Roman priest. He had then, after wards on his return to Britain, had an abundance of grey, brown, and white falcons imported. He soon had too many to keep caged with his other species of birds and the dominate creatures would pick fights with the other fowls and cause a ruckus that could be heard through the kingdom. That being said, the young king then commanded land for the large tower and made plans for a hut to be on the same conjunction of land for his master Falconer to preside in.

Merlin let his jaded gaze roam over the glades and the obscurities of the shapes of the lower village homes lay out past the river Thames or Langborne as the people dubbed it. Having snatched time for himself, he had quickly stolen away to sit and for once breath. It seemed, as of late, that he had not even a chance to change his cloths. His beige tunic was now a crumpled rag of dark brown stains and stank of stale sweat. His black jacket was now no more than thin silk, making even the littlest drafts of cold air caress his skin. The gold plated dragon cut with a small ruby eye depicting his station as royal advisor to the king, chief warlock, and royal ambassador was not much better off. His pants were rags. His raven hair was lank and plastered to his pale features.

The kingdom had been kept busy for the last year and a-half. With the newly established king Arthur in place there came new govern laws and a new start to the land. The king, along with many newly time-honored allies from around the isle to as far as Ireland signed a treaty of peace and fellowship, halting any and all wars; Arthur's idea was equality in every man's eye despite rank. As the head of the gathered kingdoms, under the sigil of a round table surrounded by the other kingdom's crest, Arthur had met with the Roman Catholic Church ruled by Charlemagne king of the Frankish domain, and came into an agreement that had not been done since before Ambrosia's time: A unified Fellowship with the Isle, Ireland, and Britain against Saxon invaders.

The Saxon invaders, or as Merlin liked to call them, Vikings for there roughish, brutal horror of ways, rode across the sea in there Viking long ships made of wood with their many Gods and blood lusting ways and swords wreaked havoc onto the land with deaths, wearing down authority, declining the economy, and making life hell.

Battle after battle was fought: on land and sea. Casualties on both sides were nightmarish and blood stained the land, but to no avail of getting rid of these devils. These Pagans even had their own magic users that dabbled in dark black magic that even Merlin was afraid of.

Merlin rubbed his shoulder in remembrance of where he had sustained a magic inflicted wound. He recalled almost too vividly of the cold, clammy, shadowy feeling of the magic coursing through his veins. His magic was strong, HE was strong, but never before had he felt this type of magic; not even through Morgana.

Also keeping Merlin on his toes was the young children and young adolescents that came to the castle on Wednesdays and Mondays to be taught the magic arts. Ever since the Magic Purge had ended and Enchanted works had been accepted back into the kingdom and people's lives, Emyrs had been giving the task of bringing it back to its once full right and place among the people and rulers. He enjoyed teaching, he really did, but it took a lot out of him as magic did these days. His magic wasn't as supple as it had been when it had been a secret. The kingdom had has no right out full attacks from magic since Morgana's death. Here and there, of course, were incidents, but nothing compared to what he once had to protect Arthur from.

Merlin closed his eyes and let the wind kiss his skin. He would have to go back soon he knew as Arthur wanted to go over the meetings he was hosting with the other kingdoms and nations at Camelot in a Month's time. Merlin sighed and stretched liked a cat in the sun when a noise penetrated his sensitive ears. He opened his eyes and looked to the ground. At first, he saw nothing. He thought it was just a stray twig in the greenery grown to long that scratched against the stone when blown by the wind. He blinked and shrugged, deciding it was time to go back, if anyone caught him he would have to go back anyway. He stood up when movement caught his eye.

There!

Over by the grain mill about a good stone throw or two from the tower a figure lurked by the wooden circular grinder. Merlin watched as the hooded thin figure stood against the wheels turn table and looked side to side slowly as if to see if anyone was watching. The shrouded person was clothed in browns and blues almost making it impossible to see them. Merlin knew this was not the miller as Johnathan; a wide berth of a man would not be this sly or this quite around his own mill and neither was it his apprentice Thomas, a young child of ten or so. Merlin watched as they seemed to jump up on their toes and then dash across the way. Merlin watched as he stopped at the edge of the woods. The thick, unbroken trees looming behind him.

He did not have time to react.

Like a waterfall going over his head, Merlin's sight went black and his hearing went blank. He felt as if someone was squeezing his lungs, pushing him down and dawn further still. He was barely aware that he gripped the stone shelf, hanging on for dear life. Behind him the birds danced with agitation.

The voice was like night, a black, dank, evil, nigh: A shadow of evil.

_Come to me. Come to me. Come. Save your king, your king from death can only you save him. Free your land. Free it from bloodshed. From wreaking to the ground. Forget what you know Emrys. Forget the past trials. Come. I am waiting. _

Merlin, when his vision came back to him, sucked in a breath, looking to the forest he wasted no time in following the figure.

**I am sorry for the wait. Thank you for reading, following and reviewing it means a lot!**

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	4. Blood Debt

**Blood Debt**

**Three weeks ago: King's forest**

Merlin followed the apparition of the stranger through the forest. His footing was sure and quick as he cut through thicket of bramble and fallen timber on the forest path. He remembered a time when the forest had once belonged to all the people in the kingdom. An acre upon acre of a kingdom of its own making that had stood as sanctuary long before the people had populated the British lands. The forest had its own kings and its own nobles, but now, people ruled the forest.

Because of the Saxon invasion that had been thrust upon the land nowhere was safe. The brutes liked to take cover deep in the forest and ravish on any of the poor souls that come into the forest hopping to collect the last of the berries before the first frost or fallen timber to fix and thatch homes and game to salt and dry to have enough to survive on.

When Uther was king, the forest was alone the king's property. The food during the time of the purge was scarce and the druids made their homes in the deeper part of the forest. The old king passed law after law punishing any of those who hunted or dwelled into the forest. He, of course let higher nobles pay an outstanding tax to be allowed to hunt into certain boundaries of the forest.

This law Arthur had abolished as soon as he came to the throne, but now he had to once again enforce it. He made it clear that no one was allowed into the forest to hunt, to gather, to live, that in doing so they risked their own lives to the Saxons that could potentially inhabited the forest, but the choice was their own. He would not inflict any punishment unto them. He made it so those who lived off the land had enough food as saw to by Merlin who over looked the stock in the royal fields and had frequent meetings with fellow advisers.

From the use of hunting raids and ambushes the forest had, in a sense, rearranged itself. Merlin who once knew the paths of the forest like the back of his hand struggled to keep up with his target. His mind was unable to pinpoint his moral instinctive directions as he traveled deeper and deeper into the darkness.

Once he thought he lost the man in the cloak. When merlin stopped to catch his breath and to look around him he heard a voice in his head; an echo.

_Emrys come, come, come. Come Emrys follow me. Then the games will begin!_

Merlin knew whoever he followed had magic. He knew he could very well be risking his own life once again. Merlin heard a crack and looked up to see the hooded figure in front of him. The two looked at one another like two knights before a jousting tourney match. Merlin could barely see the features of the man, or what he thought to be a man. He could see their build was large under the many greys and blues of his fabric he donned. His face was hidden with his cowl but when he took a step backwards Merlin could see bright orange eyes ghosting from beyond.

"Who are you?" Merlin asked but the figure didn't answer just looked at Merlin and titled his head.

"The king forbids anyone to be in the forest. You're leading your own self to your death. Saxons live here and they won't be kind to you. If an audience with the king you seek or food or a roof over your head, then Camelot will grant you that."

Again the figure said nothing but looked at Merlin. Then, as if Merlin did not see it at all, as if it was only an illusion or a blink of his eye playing tricks, the figure disappeared from where he was standing and was now only a few feet in front of Merlin. Then Merlin was on the ground, fire burning though his flesh. He screamed.

"I know very well the Saxons live in the forest you fool of a boy. I know very well what they do to their victims as they slash open their bellies from mouth to gentiles, guts and blood aspilling. You and your king do not know the half of what I and my men are cable of. "

Through the pain Merlin's mind clicked with the words and what his eyes were seeing. Here, before him, causing him to cower down in pain like fire was the leader of the Saxons. The man was tall and pale. His head was bald and scars, ragged, white and pink flesh ran all over him like some crude decoration. This was the man that had sent thousands of pillaging armies, raiding parties, of ambush upon ambushes of men to slaughter and wreak havoc. The man, the king of the hell like spawn was in front of Merlin and he was powerless to do nothing.

Only a handful of times had he been unable to use his magic. Had he been powerless before an enemy. He did not like the feel of it then and hated it more so now. The man, Astarot, was his name meaning Prince of Hell, cupped Merlin's cheek and smiled a cruel smile.

"I've heard a lot about you Emrys: Your noble achievements, your valor exploits, your magic and your just full job as friend and advisor to the king," he ruffled Merlin's hair and let out a chuckle and crouched down to Merlin's eye level, "why, you are real adversary not that Bastard coward of a king."

Merlin could only glare.

"Now, now don't get me wrong, my dear. Arthur is a sweet prize, a very sweet prize. He is the brickwork to the kingdom while you supply the mortar without him everything you've done is for nothing. Now, listen to my closely as I tell you a story."

"Once upon a time after Romans left and the great city came to fall the Britons came under increasing pressure from the Picts to the north. There was battle upon battle, more blood spilled in centuries then any other battle. They, your descendants my dear, asked the Romans to return when they found their own men weak and magic back then was still futile, still growing, but Rome was then involved in their own war with Attila the Hun and couldn't spare any man-power for England."

"So the very weak Britons asked my people, we Angles, under my great, great grandfather Hengist and Horsa, to come and deal with the Picts. To cast them out to the sea. They did, defeating the Picts wherever they found them. Raiding parties scoured the country side, women wept over their husbands broken bodies as they screamed as their babes came out into the world. Sons went to join their fathers; kings were just myth at that time. The world was chaos."

"The Britons granted them land and agreed to supply them with provisions. Promising to pay them gold for their men they lost and their service. Increasing numbers came from Germany, Hengist and Horsa realized that the land in England was better than what they had in Germany, so they sent home for their familes, thinking they had new friends, new allies. Then the Britain's turned their backs on us. Forgo giving us what we needed to live. Treated us like those we so aught for them. We never received our debt. We've been no more than prisoners here for years. And its time I collect what's due to my men and me."

Merlin collapsed to the ground heaving in breath as the spell was lifted. He knew the story well, but with a different outcome, the Saxons took advantage of the Britons and tried to drive them to the ground.

He got to his feet and roared. A ball of blue energy drove hard for Astarot but the leader deflected it and laughed. "You're magic, as powerful as it is will not work on me. Magic has long been in my blood line as long as it has been in your destiny. The land taught us, the land made us, and you will listen to my demands!"

"And if I do not?" Merlin whispered.

"In three weeks' time you will hand over the money that was owed to us. You will bring your King to the Hill on which our blood made their first stand and swords flashed. Fail to do so, and you will not want to know the outcome. The money my people want is blood money: Special money that only certain blood can erase the debt and make it done. I want you to kill your king and let his blood run over the gold. Only then will the debt be repaid. His blood for all those my people have lost. You, Merlin, will kill him. The reason my people cannot leave this land is because Arthur's Grandsire's blood holds us here. Do I make myself clear?"

Merlin curled his fist, "I will never kill my king. I would willingly give my life for Arthur's."

The leader smiled, "Then it would be all too easy but your blood would work too as it has what I require, but would you kill yourself only to know that you leave Arthur in a worse fate? Arthur's life and his blood is what I ask. Not so just the debt is repaid but so I may look upon his dead soul and show my people the prized we gain. "

The figure pulled his hood up and ran his hand over Merlin's brow; Merlin begun to feel drowsy, his body hot, lifeless. As he hit the ground, he heard the shrieking laughter of the Saxon as he ran off once more.

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